Anora's Regrets
by redrosemary
Summary: The daughters of the two great Teyrns grew up together, and had promised to be each other's maid of honor at their weddings. They swore to be best friends forever, but never knew what those words truly meant. Written for the Dragon Age Fanfiction Writers Monthly Minor Character Challenge.


I edited this, and many thanks to **SteveGarbage'** s comments. Check out his works!

* * *

Anora sat on a hard wooden bench and languished at her spartan prison, pondering at how her decisions could have taken such an evil turn. She sighed and tried to ignore the disgrace of cold prison walls, a makeshift table with two mismatched chairs, a narrow cot, hard bread, stale jam, and cold tea—a far cry from the luxurious apartments in the palace that she never really thought of until they were lost.

She regretted allowing many things to happen: for Cailan to leave, for her father to assume the Regency, for him to ally with Howe. But the thing she regretted most was not heeding the call of her best friend when she needed her the most.

"My lady!" a rushed whisper came the door was creaked open by an old servant, who produced a paper bag from her aprons.

"I must apologize that this is the best I could do, my lady, and that I must hurry," she said, affording the noblewoman no chance to reply.

Anora opened the parcel, still warm to the touch, and smelled her favorite, cinnamon rolls. She also saw some jasmine tea leaves at the bottom of the paper bag, and wondered why the old servant would send tea leaves but no hot water.

The former queen could swear that the servant worked in the palace, and had even served her from time to time, but she did not know her name. She was torn between the thought that the servant was loyal enough to have remembered her, or that the rolls were poisoned, sent to her by those treacherous Wardens who stole her throne, or that blighted fool Eamon.

But Maker, did her mouth water. Anora was still brooding over the cinnamon rolls when the door creaked open a second time.

"And here I thought you loved cinnamon rolls," came a voice that she had known a long time, but had not heard recently.

"Lucilla," Anora acknowledged her visitor, venom in her voice. "Teyrna Lucilla of House Cousland. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"That is no longer my title, but you and I will always be on first-name basis, won't we, Anora?" Lucilla said softly.

The visitor sat down and unclasped her rich cloak, revealing an elegant dark grey ankle-length dress beneath, with a tapered waist and a modest neckline. She wore an enormous gem at her throat set with smaller diamonds and filigreed gold, and in her hands were more sparkling jewels. She sat opposite Anora, who could not help but fidget at her own ugly and unjewelled attire. Anora wondered if that Cousland woman wore mail beneath, or if she had a dagger or two beneath her pretty dress.

But Lucilla reached out her hands to Anora, and the latter was surprised to feel calluses where before there was nothing but softness, and for the first time blue eyes met grey.

"You betrayed me, old friend," Anora whimpered, and pulled her hands and her eyes away. She was not a sentimental woman, and she had never let her heart known before. But today, she had to make an exception. "You let my father die. You took away my throne. You robbed me of everything I hold dear."

"Anora, I tried to find you," Lucilla said, almost lovingly. "I lost everything too—"

"And that is an excuse to rob me?" the former queen spat. She was never one to lose composure, but now was not the time for etiquette. She stood up in fury, her cold tea spilling on her unfurnished table. "Whatever you think my faults are, they do not merit the loss of Gwaren, or my status as a late King's widow. You, _Cousland_ , should know what it feels like to lose a birthright."

But Lucilla was unmoved, and when she spoke, she was no longer the old friend that Anora had known. "Where were you when I wrote to you, telling you of my family's massacre? When I appealed to you to rescind your father's outlawing of the Wardens, even for just _my_ sake? When I lost everything, when I had to sleep on the cold earth in bitter southern winters, facing werewolves and darkspawn and bandits? Don't tell me you hadn't heard of me, Anora!"

Anora took another hard look at the woman she had grown up with. Lucilla was still beautiful, but the subtle signs of stress were already lining her face with wrinkles and her dark hair with subtle and premature greys. She wondered if Lucilla saw hidden lines in her face as well, now that she was in prison and could no longer afford the secret creams and tonics that conceal one's true age. Maker knew what her face would be like after five years of marriage with Cailan—or, truth be told, one year of trying to wrestle with Loghain and Howe.

* * *

A lifetime ago, Anora and Lucilla were inseparable children in the halls of the lords of Ferelden: the daughters of the great Teyrns, one poised for Queenship, the other for the Teyrnir of Highever. They were schooled together under the finest teachers their fathers' moneys could afford, and they learned grammar, arithmetic, religion, history, politics, governance, economics and international relations together. They snuck out of their governesses' noses together, stealing cinnamon rolls from the kitchens and daggers from the armory, after which they would amuse themselves with make-believe battles where chunks of bread were hurled like ballistae, and daggers were greatswords. They soiled their muslin dresses together, until Anora's sense of propriety would get the better of her and she would scold the younger Cousland girl for her forceful games. But Lucilla would just laugh at her, and ask why should Queens always act so proper when Teyrns could shout in the Landsmeet and fight battles.

But they could only remain children for so long. Anora had a duty to Ferelden. She was betrothed to the Crown Prince, and when he assumed Kingship she wedded him. She had to part ways with Lucilla: the Cousland woman had to learn local governance, and her mother insisted on martial training as well. Still, when the time came for Anora to wed Cailan, Lucilla had stood beside her as her maid of honor, tall and beautiful and dutiful and proud, but subservient to the Queen of Ferelden. Lucilla smiled at her childhood friend, happy for her triumph.

"You'll make a great Queen," Lucilla whispered as she tenderly kissed Anora's cheek before the wedding. She helped the bride arrange her veil.

"One day, it'll be your turn soon," Anora answered as the two women admired her reflection in the mirror. She wore the most beautiful gown the two of them had ever seen: fine white brocade, and sewn with gold threads and pearls, the dress of a great Queen at her wedding. Even if she had _not_ loved Cailan—and she did, only not _romantically_ —Anora could not resist being affected by Lucilla's giddiness, or be excited about the ceremony where no expense was spared.

"Maker have mercy," Lucilla answered, as she handed Anora her bouquet. "But I promise you'll be the maid of honor at _my_ wedding, whenever that would be."

Their hands brushed. Lucilla looked into Anora's blue eyes, warm and caring, and could not resist locking her lips to hers: and then she quickly pulled away, embarrassed. She made for the door, but Anora, even in her gown, caught her and said, "You will always be my best friend forever, Luce. Never forget that."

"Friends, yes," Lucilla answered, blushing. "Best friends forever, Anora."

But Lucilla was scarce after the wedding. Anora had heard that her brother Fergus had refused the Teyrnir, as the Queen had predicted, and anyway Lucilla would probably be better off as Teyrna than her happy-go-lucky brother. Still, Anora and Lucilla wrote to each other at least once a month, and Lucilla learned that her friend's monthly courses continued, despite the nights with her golden husband. Anora learned of Lucilla's small triumphs in Highever, both in tourneys and the local court where she presided and meted justice under her father's watchful eye. Anora tried not to be jealous—she was Queen, after all, and wielded much more power than her friend—but there was something romantic about being the beloved ruler who still found time to drink in taverns with the populace or train alongside her knights.

Until the burden of the Crown felt heavier, and Anora could no longer find the time to reply to her old friend: and in her heart of hearts she knew that she had outgrown Lucilla. And when she stopped writing, her friend stopped as well—they talked no more. Lucilla never went to court, nor did Anora ever find the need to venture out of Denerim. She ruled her people and administered the great lands of Ferelden from her lofty throne, while her husband discreetly chased skirts and made merry. Anora did not mind. She was born to rule, and even if she did not do so in her own name, at least she was fulfilling her mandate.

The next time she heard from Lucilla was different. In the dark of night her maidservant Erlina delivered a scroll with a familiar wax seal: the laurels of Highever, but it was if the wax was pressed not with a seal but with a pendant. Anora opened it and read of her childhood friend's betrayal, how the Cousland household was slaughtered from the Teyrn to the lowest elven servant, how Lucilla was the only survivor, and that she was on her way to Ostagar, where she would serve the Wardens against her will.

Anora did not know how to respond to the letter. She had just lost her husband—and between mourning him and trying to wrestle power from her father and Howe, she forgot of her friend's travail. With the loss at Ostagar, too many people were grieving for parents, spouses, children. Lucilla was just another one of them.

And in the morning, the Queen returned her to Howe's petition to raise taxes. Anora knew that raising taxes for the third time in weeks would spark rebellions, but not doing so would render the Fereldan army ill-equipped for the Blight. _Or, more likely, to put troublesome banns in their place_. She squeezed her eyes shut as she weighed the country's defense heavier than others.

As the months passed, Lucilla had sent three more letters begging her for help, to clear her family name, to mete out the justice against Howe that Cailan had promised her, and to help her, the last of the two Grey Wardens of Ferelden, against the Blight. But when the Queen read the third letter, she knew she could no longer ignore it. She decided to bring up the matter with the Regent and his advisor.

It got her father into a blind rage, ranting about Orlesians and traitors. Howe insisted, but presented no documentary evidence, that the Couslands had sold Fereldan secrets to Orlais. The Teyrn-slash-Arl claimed that the Couslands were plotting to replace Anora with Lucilla as an Orlesian pawn—or worse, with the Empress herself. He pointed out that Fergus Cousland had already married an Antivan merchant princess to secure trade connections, and before the family's demise, they allegedly made pacts with the Empress.

Anora did not believe them. There was no evidence at all pointing to their declarations, and assuming Bryce Cousland had indeed sold out his beloved country, why did he not face trial but instead was massacred alongside his _entire House_ in the dead of night?

Anora sighed, and did not voice out her objections anyway. She had much bigger problems than the Couslands' fall from grace, and turned her attention to a more pressing problem in the Bannorn.

"Majesty, you signed an edict _reducing_ taxes by a tenth?" Howe's voice taunted her.

"Anora, we need the money to equip our soldiers with arms and armor," Loghain said, still irked by the prior topic.

"But surely you know that raising taxes to almost equal the value of goods will incite more rebellions!" Anora ratiocinated. She was almost losing her temper at these two, who clearly did not understand the people, commoners and nobles alike, as she did. She knew that Loghain's push for power and blatant disregard for the needs of the Arls and Banns were why the rebellions had turned into civil war.

"We have an edict where all dissenters are to be put to jail," Howe said.

"Then are we to imprison half the population, lord? I refuse to put my people in jail just for voicing out their rightful grievances," Anora declared imperiously. "I am the Sovereign now, and I say, we reduce taxes to what is just and necessary only, effective immediately."

Howe bowed down to her, but Anora paid dearly later for the reduction in taxes with her own imprisonment at his usurped Denerim estate. She also did not learn that the Elves of the Alienage paid for her defiance of Howe and her father until a week after Lucilla Cousland and her golden bastard bashed open her prison door.

"Let's go," were the first words that her old friend spoke, and she did not give her a chance to reply. And when Ser Cauthrien blocked Lucilla's path, Anora weighed herself as more important than her rescuer—the woman she called her _best friend forever_ during her wedding—and left Lucilla to be captured and tortured by her father's lackey.

* * *

In Anora's heart, she was beginning to see that she was wrong to have abandoned her friend, to have judged Lucilla as insignificant compared to other affairs of the Crown—Anora could see now that Lucilla's pleas were so intricately entwined with their country and with the Blight.

One day, she swore, she would explain everything to Lucilla, if the other woman did not already realize it, and beg for her forgiveness. _But not today_. Anora would not be reduced to a wounded animal cowering in a corner. When she would talk to Lucilla would be on her own terms.

Lucilla had no right to waltz in on her and blame her for every woe in the world. She could not have known what it was to deal with Howe and Loghain, to suppress riots and rebellions at a daily basis. Lucilla, even as a brilliant military commander, did not know what it was like to be a prisoner in her own palace, trying to find the balance between the needs of their people and protecting them from power-hungry lords.

Anora realized that she must have had an infuriated expression, because Lucilla sighed and lost her composure. "What in the Maker's name is wrong with you! I was your _childhood_ _friend_ , Anora, and you let me be imprisoned and tortured without trial, like many other nobles and commoners out there. You let my family's death go unpunished, despite your husband's promise of justice. You allowed the Blight to claw at our doorstep—"

"Why did you not see me at Eamon's estate, Lucilla?" Anora cut Lucilla off. "I sought Eamon's help at that time because I knew it was the best chance to talk to _you_. We could have thought of solutions together, but instead you _evaded_ me."

"Forgive me, Your Ladyship, if I could not find the heart to see you after your father's lieutenant captured and tortured me," Lucilla spat. "But didn't _Alistair_ ask for your help?"

"Before or after he killed my father in cold blood?" Anora retorted. "Your golden bastard half-heartedly proposed to lead this country without even the slightest leadership credentials to his name, and you expect me to take him on blindly?"

"Your father left his brother and _your husband_ , King Cailan, to die, blamed his brethren Wardens for the deed, and hunted the two of us like animals," Lucilla tried to ratiocinate despite her anger. "He hated what you represented. He stated his business, you refused, and he walked away. And when your father insulted him at the Landsmeet, he meted out the justice that the man deserved. Maker, Anora, we are only human, but we gave your father more honor than he ever gave us."

"And what, pray tell me, Lucilla, do you want?" Anora asked, slamming her fist at the table.

"Merely, to look into my best friend forever's eyes as she tried to explain why she let bad things happen to me," Lucilla answered, and tried as she might, grey eyes would not meet blue.

"I have none," Anora said bitterly, even as her heart bled, for she knew she was going to lose Lucilla forever, to her pride, to her anger, to Lucilla's own self-centeredness.

"Leave," Anora commanded with what was left of her vestige. Lucilla stood up, straightened her elegant skirt, and made for the door.

"I had thought of asking my best friend to stand beside me as my maid of honor during my wedding, as I had promised her a long time ago," Lucilla said simply and jovially at the door, as if she were a simple maiden telling her friend about a day in the marketplace. "But my lord husband King Alistair would not hear of it, and I understand his reasons. Besides, if my parents were here, they would agree. But I could not leave you without a bit of the wedding feast. I hope you enjoyed the cinnamon rolls and the jasmine tea, if you could find some hot water here."

Anora looked away, but heard the door slam shut. She had suffered the loss of a husband, of a father, of a throne and of a birthright. What more was a best friend?


End file.
